


like real people do

by aceofdiamonds



Series: is that such a stretch of the imagination? [4]
Category: Gossip Girl, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, more of this crack verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:10:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofdiamonds/pseuds/aceofdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her eyes are critical when he lets her in the door. Harry watches her find the pile of clothes on the floor, the documents scattered across the table mixing with issues of the Quibbler. Her foot lands on a Prophet and when they both look down at it Harry looks back up at them, a candid from the memorial taken just before he Disapparated away. He must have forgotten to cancel his subscription. Picture-Harry waves. </p>
<p>Blair takes a step further in, a slow smile curling around her lips. "You're a slob, Potter." </p>
<p> </p>
<p>harry and blair come back to england where blair falls further into harry's world</p>
            </blockquote>





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> harry's point of view of this whole thing. i get so wrapped up in this pairing and trying to make it somewhat believable that i forget the only people interested are me and maybe five other people. who knows when it will end. title comes from hozier's like real people do because i love that song and that man and when i read the lyrics just now they fit this part so well

 

 

 

"Side-Along Apparition? What's that?" 

"Well," Harry lifts himself onto one elbow and picks up one of Blair's hands, tangling their fingers together. "You hold onto me and I Apparate and then boom we're there."

Blair hums. The sound passes into Harry where their shoulders are pressed together, his leg shifting against hers in response. "And this is easier than flying?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugs. "I've never flown. Not on a plane anyway." 

He hasn't flown on a broomstick in too long, either, come to that. Not since he left the Aurors and his life was more in order than it is now. He misses his Firebolt, misses everything that comes with gaining speed and height above everyone, the freeness of it. Krum, he remembers suddenly, always looked so out of place on the ground, like he relied so much on the air passing by him in a flash keeping him in balance. Harry thinks he knows how he feels. 

"Wizards sound so backward," Blair sighs. She turns her head to press a kiss to his shoulder as though to soften the blow. "Brooms instead of planes; quills instead of pens. Owls." 

"It does sound odd when you put it like that. Hermione, you know, the one I told you about? She spends half the time complaining about wizards and the other half praising magic for all the little things it can do." 

"You've told them about me, haven't you?" she asks, the question mumbled into his skin. "In an owl?"

"They're excited to meet you," he says, and he feels that familiar jolt low in his stomach at the upcoming meeting. He really likes Blair, these last couple of months have been something else entirely, it's just - his last girlfriend was Ginny, someone the three of them had known for years before, who had been through so much with them. He wants them to know Blair is just as special, as different and far away as she may be from the rest of the group. "I'm excited for them to meet you." 

"And then I suppose we'd better click our heels and visit Serena. I don't think I've ever been away from her for this long." 

Harry's heard all about Serena van der Woodsen -- all the ways she's made Blair's life hell and all the ways she's been the best friend she's ever had. He likes hearing about Blair's life, the little pieces she's shared with him over time. After the last few years of being around people he'd known for so long it's been a change to learn about a person slowly over time, the pace set just for them. He recalls their first meeting down by the marina, pictures Ron taking in Blair's accent, the frown she does when she doesn't want to admit she doesn't understand something, the way she'll steer the conversation round to something she's comfortable with once she's asked enough questions, and bites back the laugh that comes with a swirl of nerves. 

"It'll be weird leaving this place." After a week or so at a motel in the middle of the town he had all but moved in with Blair in her penthouse suite that is so fancy it manages to make him feel dirty just by sitting on a chair. This whole situation has been... odd, in a much better way than that sounds. "England's not as sunny." 

"You're burnt," Blair points out, a finger dipping into his collarbone where the skin is tinged red. There must be a spell to fix that; he's never been good at that kind, the simple everyday spells that don't have connotations with battles and self-defence. She presses on the spot again, a sharp tinge making him shiver. "You should put some after-sun on that." 

Harry groans, reaches out to pull her closer. "But I don't want to move." He kisses her hard, laughing when she sighs and kisses back, her leg finding its way between his. There are spaces on her hips where his hands seem to fit perfectly, his fingers splayed on the curve, on the small of her back, down to her thigh. He groans again when she presses down, sliding her hips along just so. She knows a lot, Blair Waldorf. He knows some things, too, Ginny, you know? So he flips them over so he can hover above her, one arm beside her head, the other down on her thigh, his thumb soft on her skin. "We --" he presses a kiss to her neck. "We were discussing travel plans." 

"Multi-task, Potter." Blair does this thing where she breathes out his name like it's something she doesn't like having in her mouth while simultaneously pleading with him to make her say it again and again. "I thought you were supposed to be great." 

"I never said that," he huffs, kissing her quiet. He slides a finger down between them to brush over her, making her gasp into his mouth and buck her hips into his hand, still sensitive from before. She twists her hips again and he takes the hint, slipping a finger then another inside of her, mouthing along her neck until she grips at his shoulder and tells him to hurry up and fuck her they don't have all day. It's amazes him every time, the fluid transition from collected to impatient, as though she's constantly in this state of desperation and it's only through careful practice that she manages to conceal it.

He pushes into her quickly, his hips meeting hers, and when she bites his shoulder and comes with a shuddering gasp, that feeling of never wanting to leave slams into him again.

  
  


.

  
  


His first step back in London disorientates him. He's hit with the smell of smoke and chips and he misses the salty sea air already. 

Blair's grip on his arm tightens momentarily then she lets go and steps away, taking in their surroundings. It's not the best place he could have landed, he was possibly more vague in his destination thought than he should have been but he at least expected them to make it into a somewhat clean alleyway. This one, well, Blair's not exaggerating when she screws up her nose and looks at him like he's betrayed her.  

"I'm blaming you," he says, even though he can Side-Along just fine, but when he teases her she rolls her eyes and pretends not to smile and he likes this balance they have so he pushes it every so often, just for a reaction.

"Of course you're blaming me," she says, leading the way into the main street. "The poor defenceless woman with no magical abilities at all."

"You're anything but poor and defenceless, Waldorf," he scoffs, and takes her hand to steer her over to The Leaky Cauldron. See, he wasn't so far off target. "Here we are."

"You're taking me to a pub?" She arches one eyebrow, reaching up to pull her hair over one shoulder. "I've been to London before, you know. I know it can be nicer -- nothing like New York, but nicer than this."

"Let me get you inside first." He's not brought a Muggle here before, not brought anyone here, really, always the one being led. He doesn't ask if Blair can see the pub, her reaction making it clear she has, so he takes her hand and pulls her through the door. "You ready for this?"

She looks at him like he's not all there and Merlin, he's fought dozens of Death Eaters, fought bloody Voldemort, but then there's this look from Blair Waldorf. "I think I can handle a couple of people, Harry."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he shrugs, spotting Ron and Hermione at a table over in the corner and starting over. He's made it halfway, successfully ignoring the stares and points that still happen after all this time, smiling politely at the greetings and waves, when he feels nails digging into his palm. He turns away from waving at Seamus and Dean to look at Blair. "You alright?"

Her grip is still as tight and there's a tenseness to her mouth that he can read now but she smiles up at him, exterior confident as always, and says, "Of course. It makes a change from being the centre of attention."

"Come on, Blair, you know you're always the one who lights up the room."

"Please just admit you're terrible at being charming and stop embarrassing the both of us."

Harry has a retort ready but they've reached the table now and his best friends are looking up at him with a whole mix of emotions on both their faces. He swallows, opens his mouth, and then Hermione is out of her seat and throwing her arms around him, ending any attempt at speaking. He's never been good at Hermione's hugs, just finds it best to hold on and let her bring it to an end, so he does that, meeting Ron's eyes over her shoulder and getting across enough that Ron nods, understanding.

"It's been months, Harry Potter!" Hermione says, stepping back.

"Well if that deaf old hag in the corner didn't know you were here she does now, mate," Ron sniggers.

Harry resists flipping him off, instead tries to defend himself. "I wrote to you!"

" _Three_ times. In _three_ months."

There's a small sigh from Harry's left, the three of them turning to Blair who rolls her eyes at Harry, hopeless, and holds out a hand to Hermione. "I'm probably the reason for that. Although from what I've experienced Harry isn't the best at --"

"This is Blair Waldorf," Harry interrupts gently, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him, tight. She smiles sweetly. "Blair, this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley."

It's an experience seeing Hermione speechless. Harry takes a special sort of pleasure in being the one to make it happen occasionally. Recently it's been for a lot happier reasons than any details of his probable premature death.

Hermione, though, it can't be said she doesn't recover quickly. She blinks a couple of times, darts a glance at Harry who smiles and tries not to tighten his grip on Blair's shoulder because these are his best friends and he really likes this girl he thinks, these two worlds have to collide.

So Hermione smiles, a real genuine smile that uncurls Harry's stomach, shakes Blair’s hand and tells her, "It's so nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

She's heard that she's American, a fashion designer, and a real something. Hermione's a beautiful liar.

"Yeah," Ron says, half getting up to shake Blair's hand. Harry pushes Hermione gently back to her seat and then the two of them fill in the other side of the table. "Good to meet you."

"Harry's been telling me about your world," Blair says, and of course she starts with that. She's been fascinated with wizards and magic ever since she brought her head around to the fact that it's real and she can't do it, like it or not. He likes having these conversations with her, the interest clear and open on her face, a change from the casual indifference she tries to convey most of the time. "It sounds fascinating."

Hermione smiles again, latching onto that similar want for knowledge that is such a huge part of her, and leans in to talk further, asking Blair what she's been told so far, shooting Harry a look when she says mostly Quidditch, honestly.

Ron looks on, amusement playing around his mouth, and Harry takes the opportunity to talk to his best friend. "She's alright, isn't she?"

"Hermione likes her plenty," he says, his gaze settling on Harry. He had been funny about Ginny and Harry splitting up, despite the mostly amicable end to their relationship, and it’s fair to say that when Harry had Disapparated out of the memorial three months ago he hadn’t given even Ron an explanation as to why. He’s still not sure, all he knows is that for months the feeling of being unable to breathe, a cloying taste in his mouth, had been building up inside of him, and when he had been asked to make a speech about all of the people who gave their lives it had been hard to stick around.

"I missed you, mate." He hasn't seen Ron since the memorial where everyone had been quiet and respecting and hanging onto Harry's every word. He gets the way they treat him, he's been getting it since he was eleven, but everyone needs to understand it wasn't just him out there, that there are so many people that deserve the same recognition and praise.

The memorials are hard even after all this time. He never knows what to say, how to act, doing his best to crush down that overwhelming guilt that rises up every time because _he didn't do enough_ , he didn't _save enough people_. That's something that rests on him, no one else, despite what Ginny used to say.

And Ginny. He misses her too, sometimes so fiercely it’s like a punch to the chest, and he has to close his eyes, count to ten, and remember that they broke up for the best, that maybe they weren’t staying together for the healthiest reasons, clinging to the war that broke them, both individually and together, and now she’s playing for the Harpies and he’s, well he doesn’t have a job at the moment, actually. Not since he told the Auror office he needed some time off, just a bit, to get his head back together.

It’s funny, in a way where it isn’t, that he was able to go into that job so quickly after the war, feeling ready and eager to take down every Dark wizard they could find, and now, five years later, everything’s hitting him. This delayed reaction is messy and inconvenient and maybe that’s why he thought it was best to hide out in Italy for three months with a beautiful woman who is broken in just as many ways.

He won’t tell Hermione all of this. He’ll tell her he was tired and he needed to get away for a while and she’ll fuss and try to make sure he’s coping and then she’ll go back to regulating laws and planning the wedding. She doesn't need to worry about him.

These last few months have been so far removed from his life here, so stress-free and easy, that despite the happiness of seeing Ron and Hermione again, he misses Italy and sun and just him and Blair desperately.

Blair talks rapidly about everything she wants to know and Harry sits and listens, his knee pressed against hers under the table. Here, she says his name with a tinge of fondness to it, enough for him to smile without realising it and for Hermione to glance between them, figuring things out. Ron tells him about the shop and what Mrs Weasley has been saying to him and that Fleur's pregnant again, and Harry feels it's been a success.  

  
  


.

  
  


"Do you have a place here?" Blair asks after they've left Diagon Alley, alone. "Or do you spend all of your time in hotels?"

"Nah, I have something. It might not be up to your standards but it's not bad."

She sighs, leans her head on his shoulder. "As long as there's a bed I'm sold."

"There's definitely one of those."

Blair tilts her head up to him. “Your friends --” she breaks away and thinks for a moment, her hand on his arm,“they seem very concerned about you.”

“Don’t your friends feel that way about you?”

“Yes,” she allows, “but this was more. You’ve been through a lot with them, haven’t you?”

Harry leads them along to the taxi rank at the end of the road. “They’ve been through everything with me,” he says, and wonders if that is too much. But that’s the way it is. “We spent a year living in a tent together,” he laughs. “It’s hard to break away from that.”

Blair hums but doesn’t say anything else. She stares out of the window with her face turned away from his all the way back to his flat.

Her eyes are critical when he lets her in the door. Harry watches her find the pile of clothes on the floor, the documents scattered across the table mixing with issues of the _Quibbler_. Her foot lands on a _Prophet_ and when they both look down at it Harry looks back up at them, a candid from the memorial taken just before he Disapparated away. He must have forgotten to cancel his subscription. Picture-Harry waves.

Blair takes a step further in, a slow smile curling around her lips. "You're a slob, Potter."

"Hey I've been busy." He's been busy for the last five years it feels. He's been meaning to get someone in for ages and has never quite gotten around to it. He doesn't mind the mess. "It's an organised mess."

"That's what messy people say," Blair says, primly clearing a space on the couch and sitting down.

Ginny used to sprawl everywhere around the flat like that was exactly where she belonged. It's now that it hits Harry how surreal this is, with Blair Waldorf sitting looking at a magazine with magic pictures and recipes for household potions, how different he and Blair really are.

He flops on the couch beside her. She glances up at him but doesn't say anything.

"What's up?"

"I'm not used to being lost," she says quietly, closing the book with a snap. "Not in an entire world."

"I felt that way too," Harry says, "you get used to it."

"But you're part of it," and this is closer to a whine, a child-like want clinging to it. "I don't get that. I'm just an observer."

There's nothing to say to that so he doesn't try. Instead Harry walks over to the window and tugs the curtains shut, shrouding the room in darkness. He kneels on the floor beside where Blair is sitting on the couch and rests his hand on her knee. "I know it might seem like it but magic isn't always the best thing. I've told you about all the ways it's messed up my life -- half the time you're better without it."

"You're just saying that," Blair says with a roll of her eyes. "Fuck, I'm so stupid. I never even knew about all of this until three months ago."

"Blair, you're different from everything I've ever known too."

"Humphrey used to say that," she says. "I've never worked out if it's a compliment or not."

"It definitely is. If you ever take me New York I promise you I'll be even more out of my depth than you are here."

"You'll have me in New York -- it's my city, you'll be fine. Or at least, it used to be mine. Word of advice: don't divorce the man who owns half the buildings in the greatest city in the world."

"I thought you said Paris was the greatest city in the world," Harry says, skimming over and away from the mention of her ex-husband. Experience shows that conversation never ends well. He's not sure he wants to know more anyway; it's not like any of his ex's have ended so terrible, he doesn’t know what that hurt would be like.

"New York is my home," Blair says confidently, coming back into herself. "And you're not going to survive it but it'll be okay."

She laughs when his hand slips on her knee then tugs him in for a kiss, her mouth warm on his.

  
  


.

  
  


His bedroom is tidier, although that's mostly due to the quick Scourgify he had shot in at it on the way to the bathroom. It's been surprisingly effective, he thinks, kicking a sock under his bed.

Blair kneels on his bed and kisses him, her hands flat on his chest. She moans when he runs his hand down her sides to her thighs, pushing her back onto the bed. With her top rucked up, her hair a mess, she looks at home on the rumpled duvet. Harry rocks back and looks at her, head tilted.

"What are you looking at, Potter?"

He laughs, shakes his head, and ducks to press a kiss to her collarbone. Her knees lock at his waist and pull him closer and when her hand cups his chin and drags Harry's mouth to hers he goes willingly. Happily.

  
  


.

  
  


When they fight it's sudden and explosive, yelling misunderstandings that collide in the air between them and make them second guess everything they've been doing. This one climbs above the rest, appearing out of nowhere on a Sunday morning which had been spent on the couch with books and juice. It comes from a photo sitting on the table. A photo showing Harry

"You have to _tell_ me things, Harry."

But he doesn't want to. He likes that this person doesn't know every little thing he does because when people know all those things they look at him differently, their eyes as soft as their mouths. He wants to keep Blair separate from that. He wants her to treat him the way she has been: a careful balance of fond and indifference, leaning more to the former as time passes. He knows it’s stupid and unrealistic but he wants to stay in this bubble they’ve made.

He tells her this. Some of it.

“But that’s half of what you are, Harry,” Blair says, turning away, her arms folded. “I told you about Chuck and Dan and the baby and Serena. If this is going to go anywhere I need to know more about you than what your favourite Quidditch team is.”

“So many people died, Blair. I’m responsible for that --”

“I’ve been reading about your war, and Hermione told me a little too. She told me you do this, you pull yourself down with everything. I do that too, Harry. I don’t have as much guilt as you, not any deaths but what comes close enough to it in New York. This doesn’t happen to me much, but I want to listen. I want to hear about something that happened to you.”

“What else has Hermione been saying about me?” Harry jumps on. “She tell you I haven’t had a job in months? That the papers think I’m on a downward spiral? That I’m fucking everything up.”

Blair raises an eyebrow, suddenly cool and collected again. When she shouts her cheeks flush and her voice trembles ever so slightly but now when she speaks it’s steady and quiet. Harry listens. “I actually thought this was going okay for once but I clearly was wrong.”

“Blair --”

“I’ll see you in a couple of days, Harry.”

It’s as though she’s taken a crash course in Apparition the speed she disappears. She’s there in Harry’s flat and then she’s gone.

  
  


.

  
  


"I like Blair," Hermione says, sounding surprised at herself. She pauses then adds: "In some way I think she's good for you."

"That's what I said," Ron interrupts, which doesn't really add up with the hints he's been giving Harry about Ginny being single again. Harry met Ginny last week, she told him she's seeing a player from the Harpies, they're both happy. Harry takes the comment from Ron with gratitude anyway. "Happiest I've seen you in a while, mate."

"Yeah, well, I don't know where she is now, so."

"What do you mean?"

"I implied things weren't working and she took off?" Harry winces at the sharp look Hermione sends him. "I didn't mean it like that! It was miscommunication."

"Why am I not surprised?" Hermione says, narrowing her eyes. "Harry, what exactly did you say?"

"It's your fault, actually," he says, keen to shift the blame. He hadn't realised how much time he had been spending with Blair until she disappeared. His brain is dragging things up from ten years ago that he wants to tell her: silly little things like the Whomping Willow and the disastrous date with Parvati at the Yule Ball and Aunt Marge's dogs and Hogwarts' treacle tart. He realises he wants to tell her the bigger things, too. Not about the war but about the night Sirius said he could live with him and the first time he met Tonks and the memories he's got of his parents via a mirror and their friends. That's what she wants to hear and he wants to give it to her. "She said you told her about me."

"And she told me she'd read books," Hermione replies. "And I knew something like this might happen. Harry, I understand what you're doing and why you’re doing it, I do, but if you want to really make things work with Blair you're going to have to open up a little."

Harry picks up his drink. Finishes it in one gulp. "I know. I want to -- I don't want everything to change."

"Harry," Ron says seriously. "We've known you for a long time and we're not sick of you yet. Give her a chance."

“This is all great and everything but I have no idea where she is now.”

 

.

  
  


He feels vaguely guilty performing a tracking spell on one of Blair’s scarves but she uses a mobile phone and he doesn’t have one of those, all he has is an owl, and yeah at this moment he’s really seeing what she means about wizards being behind Muggles in this respect. So he murmurs the charm and shrinks the scarf to fit into his pocket and tries not to think about how angry she might be at him for essentially stalking her on top of everything else.

The charm takes him to a hotel in the West End. It’s high-end, taxis lined up at the door, men to pull open the door for him. It’s nicer than his flat by a long way. This is more Blair’s scene.

"How did you find me?" she asks when she opens the door. Her hip is cocked, hand firm, and it's late afternoon, that hazy in between time no one quite knows what to do with, but she's made-up, lips red and glossy, hair shiny. Harry's eyes drop to the sliver of exposed shoulder where her robe has slipped down and knows this is all planned, as though she somehow knew he was coming, impossible as that may be. "Harry, are you going to say something or just stand there?"

“You took what I said the wrong way,” he says, and tips his head back with a groan when Blair arches an eyebrow and turns back into the room. The door stays open behind her so he takes it as an invitation and steps inside. “This isn’t going badly.”

“I think this is the best apology I’ve ever had,” Blair muses, sitting on the bed and crossing her legs. She cocks her head, looks at him like she can read his mind, and bloody hell Harry doesn’t know what the world was thinking when they kept magic from Blair Waldorf but it’s not like she needs it, not really.

“I don’t see why I have to apologise,” Harry says and then wishes he hadn’t because this is just making everything worse and wasn’t he just saying to Ron and Hermione that he’s enjoying himself. “Okay, fine, I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Blair laughs, a high, fake noise. “That was quicker than I thought.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Blair.”

She breaks suddenly, her shoulder falling, the facade gone. “Harry, do you want to continue this or not? It’s been a good few months, I’ve had a surprising amount of fun, and the sex has been...” she trails off, her mouth curving into a smirk, “ _magical_ , but we can leave it here and go back to our separate lives, easy.”

“You don’t have to be so bloody dramatic all the time,” Harry says, stepping closer to her. “I don’t have a job, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but I like this with you. Is that enough?”

She’s smiling now, the one she does when she doesn’t mean to, teeth showing and the dimple in her left cheek making her look wholesome, that girl next door. “I am very dramatic, Harry. You know that. I’ve told you that about me because that’s what people do in relationships, they tell each other things.”

“I’ll tell you everything eventually. Just give me some time.”

“For two 22 year olds we’ve got a lot of that,” Blair says with another smile.

Harry leans down and kisses her softly to test the waters. She responds with a sigh against his lips, her hand lifting to his neck and pulling him down further. He follows, his other hand falling on to the bed beside her thigh to support his body, grinning when Blair’s fingers fumble on his shoulder. One day at a time.

  
  


.

  
  


“I’m sorry,” Blair murmurs into the crook of his neck, her breath soft on his skin. The sky outside is burning redorangepink as the sun sets and when Harry moves his head an inch this way it hits Blair, illuminating her face. “I shouldn’t push you.”

Harry’s hand curves at her hip. He thinks for a moment, ordering his thoughts, and then says, “When I was fourteen a student - my friend - was murdered right beside me. Just because. A spare, they called him.” Blair shifts so she can watch him uncurl everything from inside of him, all the dark and awful things he hasn’t had to say because everyone already knew. She lies beside him, her hair spilling across the pillow onto his shoulder, their bodies pressed together all the way down to their toes, as he tells his story in fragments, jumping from one year to the next and back again. He tries to tell it objectively, like it happened to someone other than him, he’s just passing it on, but he slips up so many times, deaths catching in his throat. Blair’s hand is there, steady and warm, staying as he talks.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says quietly when he thinks he’s finished.

He rolls over, pulling the duvet further around them. It’s cold in here, colder still when Blair’s feet push between his shins, but he doesn’t move them, just burrows closer. He feels exhausted. “One time I tried to avoid answering sphinx’ riddle by asking her to move,” he mumbles.

Blair huffs a laugh. “You’re so weird, Harry Potter.”

“Mm. You’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”

“I suppose I’m okay with that.”

  
  


.

  
  


Their world needs to open up soon. They can’t stay locked in this little dream where they pass the time walking in parks and museums and staying up at night having sex and watching films. Harry needs to get a job. He needs to go back to the Aurors, if they’ll have him -- this is a stupid thought, they’ll have him whenever he needs them despite his insistence that he be treated like everyone else. He needs to get a routine back into his life instead of trying out new ways to make Blair laugh, laughing himself when she talks about New York and the tangles she’s got into. Blair needs to go home, she misses it, misses her friends and family. Harry’s kept her for too long, clinging to this person who embodies everything different and yet somehow the same. She’s broken, too. Broken in ways that can’t be healed with wands and whispers of _it’ll be okay_. Wars leave scars but so do marriages. 

So they’ll do something tomorrow. Tomorrow Harry will owl the Ministry and Blair will drag her suitcase out from Harry’s closet and they’ll begin to make steps back into the world. It’ll be okay.

  
  
  
  



End file.
